miracle
by Misila
Summary: When everything is over, it's time to pick up the pieces.[Hawthorne/Mitchell]


For Bungou Stray Dogs Rarepair Week 2017.

Day 6: Future

* * *

 ** _miracle_**

.

It was a deceptive day, sky hidden behind thick grey that promised a storm but never let it rain.

What little sunlight filtered through the clouds was cold, shaken by a wind that hissed through dying leaves, whistled between the identical buildings on both sides of the street. Trees shuddered, barely able to shelter scared birds between their branches.

The leaves flying across the street, dancing in an unpredictable pattern, had all her attention as she absent-mindedly brushed her long hair, hands halting every now and then. A hummed song vibrated through her closed lips; Margaret could not recall where she had heard it, but the notes forming in the back of her throat felt as soothing as a lullaby.

She had always liked windy days; and now she found them more beautiful than ever.

Lilac eyes lit up when she heard the doorbell; the comb fell on her lap, hands reaching for the wheels despite all the strength her long slumber had seeped out of her body, which rendered her efforts fruitless. She heard the assistant rush to the door, gave up with a frustrated huff as a deep, calm voice reached her ears.

Margaret couldn't discern their conversation, but the newcomer was too familiar.

It took him a minute to walk into the living room; a smile made its way to his lips, wrinkles carved around his eyes as he showed a chrysanthemum he had brought hidden behind his back, bowing to offer it to her.

"Good afternoon," Nathaniel greeted, eyes glinting behind his glasses as she took the red flower in her hands.

"You are such a gentleman," she replied, brushing soft petals with her thumb.

"How was your day?"

Margaret straightened up. "There isn't much to do when one can't even move her own wheelchair," she commented. "May I ask for a short walk in your company, now that you're back?"

Nathaniel nodded immediately.

"If I can do your hair first."

There was no rational objection to that request. Nathaniel's hands on her brown curls were careful, delicate as if not to hurt her; he had admitted his expertise came from the long hours sitting by her barely alive form, when he had found comfort in taking care of one of the features Margaret loved the most about herself.

The monster had left her legs useless, he had reasoned. He couldn't allow anything else to take more parts of her away.

When Nathaniel finished his task, a thick braid fell over her shoulder, like honey flowing down and nearly reaching her lap. The chrysanthemum had found its place between light locks, its fresh petals brushing her ear as Nathaniel helped Margaret to put on a coat and a scarf, legs sheltered beneath another blanket.

Despite the cold biting into her still pale cheeks, Margaret felt better the moment they were outside. She had been locked in a hospital room for far too long; and even though Nathaniel kept silent, pushing the wheelchair forward, she could tell his thoughts were wandering into similar ideas.

So she decided to pull him back into the present.

"Nathaniel," she called, fiddling with a red petal as they entered a lonely park, "could you tell me already?"

Within the following seconds, the man's steps came to a halt, as well as the chair.

"I'm delighted to confirm you are as sharp as ever, Miss Mitchell." She hid her faint blush behind the scarf as Nathaniel walked around the wheelchair to sit on a bench by her side. "I wanted, indeed, to talk to you."

Her light eyes stared at him in curiosity, lips pressed into a suspicious frown.

"What about?" she asked, because something about the sharp edge in Nathaniel's eyes told her this was serious. "That man…" stumbled between her lips, worry seeping into her voice.

"He's gone for good now." Nathaniel shook his head, a slight smile that didn't quite conceal the darkness still clinging to his eyes. "No; this is about you."

"Me?"

"I saw Montgomery on my way back home," he explained. "She found her place here in Japan, it seems… and she is on good terms with the Armed Detective Agency; she asked me about you––"

"So?" Margaret interrupted, impatient. Minor details could wait.

Nathaniel let out a sigh, resigned and fond.

"One of the detectives there is a doctor," he continued. "According to Montgomery, she can heal anything." Margaret's eyes widened as the man looked at her. "So maybe she can heal your legs, too."

In the moments that followed, air stood very still, as if paying attention to their conversation.

"I––" Margaret blinked, trying to get rid of the hopeful sting behind her eyes. "I… Of course I'd––" But Nathaniel kept getting blurry regardless of her efforts, and her voice broke when his hand reached for her cheek, thumb wiping away tears that were soon replaced with new ones. "Is that really possible?"

"We should ask the doctor directly, but that ability seems quite powerful."

Margaret shook her head, freed herself from Nathaniel to rub at her cheeks herself. "I mean after everything the Guild did."

The man stood still for a second.

"I'll make it happen," he assured then, voice full of a renewed determination. "Miracles exist, after all."

His hand was still half raised, as if he wanted to touch her again; it wasn't until Margaret grabbed it that she noticed that he was crying, too.

"How are you so sure?" she muttered.

A smile made its way through the steady stream of tears.

"I witnessed one the day you awoke."


End file.
